


Somewhere to Hide

by AndThatsShannii



Series: Drarry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angry Draco, Angry Harry, Awkward Kiss, Awkward Kissing, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Boys Kissing, Draco sorry, Draco talks, Drarry, Dumbledore Dies, Friendship, Gay, Harry and Draco, Harry and Draco argue, Harry and Draco friends, Harry and Draco talk, Harry and Draco understand each other, Hiding, Kissing, M/M, Malfoy, Malfoy Potter, Oneshot, Pre-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Deathly Hallows, Room of Requirement, Sad Harry, Surprise Kissing, Understanding, Unexpected Kiss, Vanishing Cabinets, Yaoi, apologise, argument, draco - Freeform, harry - Freeform, kiss, mutual understanding, potter, punch - freeform, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThatsShannii/pseuds/AndThatsShannii
Summary: Harry Potter, distraught after Dumbledore's death, finds himself in the Room of Requirement. Draco Malfoy never realised he would regret what he had done so much. When both of them go to hide, they find more than they had bargained for.Please tell me if you like it and if I should continue to the explicit scene or leave it as a Oneshot!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Drarry, so I hope you enjoyed. I had originally intended for it to be explicit, but it was very fun to explore why the two of them would have a moment. Please tell me if you think I should continue and I'd be happy to!

Harry could barely breathe. It was as if there was a weight on his chest, crushing his airways. He needed to run, to get as far away from his mourning classmates as possible. They didn’t _know_ Dumbledore like Harry did. Still, their tears slid gracefully down their faces: perfect props in this act of sorrow. While they all made it seem so easy, Harry could not cry. The lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him, but still he could not cry. Pins and needles ripped through his brain, preventing him from feeling anything but a dizzying confusion. The other students showed the pain he assumed this numbness was saving him from. The warmth of the Gryffindor Common Room felt oppressive, strangling the remnants of hope that the headmaster had left him. He could not cry. He needed to run. 

There was only one place he could think of. Only one place where he could truly be alone. _I need a place to hide._ He turned the corner of the Seventh Floor landing and there it was, waiting for him, gate-like doors ready to be pushed open wide. The home of Dumbledore’s Army. The place where he and the few who believed his stories had practiced spells just last year, trying to prepare themselves for what was to come. Back then, Dumbledore had been a beacon for them: they had aimed to make him proud, to preserve his defiant spirit within the hell that was Umbridge’s Hogwarts. Now the spirit had dissipated. Now that Dumbledore had gone, what was the DA? Just a group of pathetic students who thought they could make a difference. Nothing more. Closed-fisted, he pushed the door firmly with his knuckles and it opened soundlessly.  

The entire school grounds had gone completely back to normal. Hagrid’s Hut had been extinguished and restored to its shabby homeliness. The chunks of brick which had been blasted off danced back into their place. Even the marks and scorches of dark magic had lightened and disappeared. Everything seemed normal. Too normal. His mind didn’t match this stillness. Hogwarts was no longer a home, not without Dumbledore. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing could ever make sense again.  

Harry’s footsteps echoed along the cool stone floor as he walked inside, the doors closing behind him with a small _click_. The Room of Requirement had taken a form which Harry remembered quite clearly: towers of discarded banned objects were piled high, tickling the ceiling. The Vanishing Cabinet stood mockingly, door swung open. There was the occasional natter of some forbidden magical creature which had long been forgotten by its owner. Harry did not have time to wonder how it had survived all this time. His eyes searched the towers and floors as he paced uncertainly. _Where is it?_ Finally his eyes locked onto what he had been looking for. There. On the floor. Among some ridiculously overdue library books and magazines with questionable content. There it was. The cover was almost brand new, but its pages were brown and tattered, and it had a distinctly dusty smell. It sat open and face-down, pages creased irreversibly as it pressed against the floor. Ginny had obviously just thrown it with its counterparts carelessly. 

As if it was disgusting, Harry plucked it from its resting place, pinching the spine with his thumb and forefinger. Its innocent exterior masked the dangerous content. The one line. The one sentence: _Property of the Half-Blood Prince_. Harry felt so pathetic it was almost laughable. It seems that, after his six-year skepticism, even he had eventually been fooled by Severus Snape. Snape never failed to have some surprising persona up his sleeve. This one felt violating: someone who helped and guided him so much through the year had grown to be nothing but a betrayer. He was dark and evil, and this was all Harry had of him.

He leafed through the pages with a repulsed curiosity. How could he have failed to notice that the long spider-like words were so similar to those which had graded his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework for the past year? A sudden anger seized him with violent intensity. He could feel the blood come rushing to his face and his mind moved too fast for his hands, causing him to twitch uncontrollably. He grabbed and pulled, over and over again, clenching his teeth, growling like a wounded lion. The book screamed in protest, the sounds of the rips weaving through the towers of rubbish and bouncing off the walls. When he had shredded the pages into confetti, all he felt was an emptiness. Severus Snape had betrayed Albus Dumbledore last night, and all that Harry could do was rip up a book. A stupid book that Snape had long forgotten about. This was Harry’s only contribution.

Many hours could have past for all Harry knew. He sank to the floor, panting. He had used up the little energy he had left in this outburst, and now his eyes were heavy and drooping, begging for a rest. The creature hiding in the towers had hushed and the whole world was silent. He rested his back awkwardly against one of the towers, tentatively at first, testing its sturdiness, before closing his eyes and allowing himself to fall into an uneasy slumber. His mind shut off once again. There was nothing more than the pins and needles. His wand clattered out of his robes and rolled off, disappearing within a mound of auto-correcting quills. If he had stayed awake and his wand was still on his person, Harry would have been able to better react to what was about to happen.

A murmur came from the Vanishing Cabinet. Then, a flash of light and the sound of two booted feet dully in the insides. A sigh. A sigh that Harry would have found familiar, had he not drifted off. This was no satisfied, happy sigh. No. Not yet. This was the sigh of someone who had the weight of the world on their shoulders. The footsteps made their way to the opening of the cabinet, before they plodded onto the wooden floor below. There, to Harry’s left and completely unaware that he was not alone, was a teenager. A teenaged boy with white-blonde hair and a pointy face. The boy’s grey eyes scanned the mountains of clutter with wistfulness. He signed and then swallowed, hard. Until yesterday, this had been his home. Now, thanks to him, the safest place in the world was no longer impenetrable from the outside. Thanks to him, everything would have to change.

Draco Malfoy believed that he was alone. Who else would even leave their dorms after what had happened? A cool breeze blew through the windowless room, gripping the back of his neck with an eerie chill, as though one of the ghosts had passed through him. Maybe it was Dumbledore’s spirit set to haunt him forever after what he had done. Maybe it was just his own guilt seizing him and making him feel sick to the stomach. If it was, it had worked. His mind swam in grief and he set his arm upon a tower of discarded muggle objects, attempting to steady himself. If his father had seen him like this, he would have never been able to bear the shame of it. That was why he had disappeared into the grubby shop at Knockturn Alley and slipped inside the wretched cupboard which had sealed his fate. Some part of him, an extremely naive part indeed, had thought — no, hoped — that things would be the same if he returned to the place he had called home for six years. He had not been completely wrong. As he ran his hands through his blonde hair and whistled out a feeble breath, he saw that nothing had really changed at all. The piles of other students’ forgotten treasures littered the ground in the exact same way as they had always done, and the natter of the unidentified creature had returned to fill the air. Yet there was still something completely altered. Even from the Room of Requirement, Draco could feel the collective solemn acceptance that all was lost. 

He was the reason Dumbledore was dead. What had the old man done to deserve to be killed in Hogwarts? Why did his biggest achievement have to be breaking into a place full of people he didn’t want to see hurt? He disliked them, sure. The school was filled with mudbloods and blood traitors — as his father called them — and that _Potter_. That _perfect_ Potter who had everything he had envied. Who cared about money and reputation when you didn’t have anyone to talk to (save from two bumbling baboons who barely knew how to breathe for themselves). He was truly alone with no _intelligent_ human friend to say a word to. Harry had it all. The fame, the friends, the likability. Not that he could ever admit this to anyone. Draco pressed his forehead against his knees and sobbed. All was lost, surely. Now there was no place in the whole world that was free from _him_ and his followers. His sobs became louder.

Harry woke up with a start. He wasn’t alone in here. Someone was _crying_. He stood up in confusion and moved cautiously towards the source of the tears.

“ _Malfoy_.” Was all Harry could say. Rage bubbled up in his chest once more. Draco did not reply. He just sat there. His sobbing subsided, but he did not raise his head. It was as if he no longer cared. 

Harry’s arms were outstretched, ready for him to snake his hands around the other boy’s pale throat and tighten his grip, squeezing and squeezing until Malfoy was no longer there. He took two steps forward and then stopped, hands dropping down to his sides. The blonde boy lifted his head slowly and, for the first time, he truly looked into Draco Malfoy’s eyes. Harry’s anger dissipated, replaced by a sickening pity. Grief and self-hate were projected in the grey of Malfoy’s eyes. They whispered what would never be spoken. _I’m so sorry._

“What did he do to you?” Harry continued, voice faltering with his uneasiness, “What did Dumbledore do to deserve any of this?" 

“Nothing.”

“Why would you…? Why would you take away the one safe place we had left?” Harry ran his hands through his messy black hair, his lips dry and his heart beating uncontrollably.

“I don't know.”

“You do know. Tell me the truth Malfoy. Tell me what you were _thinking_ when you let some of the most dangerous wizards of all time into the school.”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

This time Harry really did grip Draco’s throat. He pushed him backwards onto a tower of mysterious boxes. It swayed warningly. Harry’s fingers tightened. No struggle. 

“HE DID NOTHING BUT TRY TO KEEP YOU SAFE!” Harry screamed, fingernails breaking the pale boy’s skin.

“I know.”

“THEN TELL ME WHY, MALFOY! TELL ME WHAT DUMBLEDORE DID TO DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THIS!” When there was no reply, Harry continued, “ALL YOU AND YOUR STUPID FATHER DO IS —”

In a second, Harry had reeled back, stumbling. He tried desperately to steady himself, to not fall. His eyes widened as his hand went to his hot cheek, trying to soothe the pain of the sudden punch. 

“You don’t know what it’s like, _Potter_.” Malfoy’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, "Your parents’ lives were never in your hands. You have never felt that kind of _responsibility_ before.”

“I—”

“NO! Your parents are _dead_. You don’t know what it’s like to fear failure. To have to do something impossible to save your family. To stop the threats from coming true. You don’t know what it’s like to fear losing all you have. The only people who have ever loved you.” Malfoy stood over Harry, his face contorted in anger, “So _don't you dare_ say anything about my father.”

With that, he turned and disappeared between the mounds of forgotten items. Not even the sound of his footsteps found their way to Harry’s ears. An unforgiving silence filled the air. Even the unidentified creature hushed, as if it were judging Harry in some way. Malfoy was right. Harry did not know what it felt like to lose his family — his family had always been lost. The only blood relations he had hated him more than anything. His two father figures had been killed barely a year apart by the people Malfoy associated with. However, he did have his friends, and what wouldn’t Harry do for his friends? For a reason he could barely understand, Harry felt something he had never felt towards Draco: regret.

“Malfoy —” Harry sighed, “…Draco. Look. I’m — I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Just leave it alone.” Malfoy’s voice bounced off the walls.

“It does… I… What you did was…” Harry stammered lamely, “… I can’t forgive you for what you did, but you didn’t kill him. It’s not your fault he’s dead. It’s Snape’s.” It was the best he could do. No reply. 

“Draco… please. This is stupid. Please come out.” Harry’s hand found something slimy and unwelcome as he used the precarious piles to steady himself, doing his best to avoid the junk strewn across the floor. “I… I want to know. I want to know what it’s like.” He wiped his hand on his robes and turned the corner. Malfoy’s eyes met his.

“I couldn’t do it, you know?” Malfoy’s head dropped down. He stared as his own fingers expressionlessly.

“I know.”

“Even when my family’s lives were on the line, I still couldn’t do it. I’m weak.”

“That’s not weakness. Voldemort’s weakness is his hate. Dumbledore never killed anyone and Voldemort feared him the most. It isn’t weak to care about others.”

Silence resonated across the room once again. Harry’s ears were ringing with it. His cheek burned where Draco had punched him and he couldn’t help the little smile that briefly flashed across his face when he was reminded of a similar one that Hermione had delivered to Draco three years earlier. That was quickly replaced by an awkwardness, though. How could he find something funny so soon after what happened? How was he sitting here with the boy who let _Death Eaters_ into the school and relating to him so much? Of all the times in his life, he chose now, when Malfoy had done something so unforgivable, to finally understand his foe. This was way too much for Harry to take in. Too much for one day.

“I still hate you, Malfoy. Don’t think this changes anything.”

“I know. And I still hate you, Potter. You and your perfect life.”

“My life? Perfect?” Harry scoffed. “You think it’s easy being the ‘chosen one’? Do you think it’s easy having people constantly think you’re something you’re not — that you’re some sort of hero? You’re even more stupid than you look. You deserve to rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life for what you did. Ugh! I just want to hex you so bad!” Harry suddenly realised that he had taken a few  involuntary steps forward. The two boys were now standing barely an inch apart, their noses almost pressing together. 

“Then why don’t you?” Draco’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, his breath hot in Harry’s face.

He clenched his fists and raised his hand swiftly, stopping short of Draco’s face. Despite himself, Malfoy flinched and closed his eyes. When he felt no pain, he opened them again, confused. 

“Do it, Potter! What's wrong with you?” He grabbed onto Harry’s still clenched fist, lining it up to his face, “Everything that happened was my fault, remember? Punch me.” 

Harry glared at Draco, anger and confusion swirling in his head. Why couldn’t he just hit him? His heart raced in his chest and he could feel his palms go sweaty inside his clenched fist. Was this pity he was feeling, or was it something else?  Why was he so unable to touch that punchable face? As a matter of fact, why was Malfoy being like this? The boy who usually went out of his way to make Harry’s life a living hell was now giving him permission to punch him. He was even asking for it. But why? Was there something that Harry did not know. 

“What’s wrong with _you,_ Malfoy?” He lowered his hand slowly and Draco yanked his own back, shoving it into his pocket awkwardly. They both pulled away and did their best to ignore the strange tension which had been growing between them. “Why do you care? Why are you even _here_?”

“That doesn’t matter. I don't have to tell you anything.” The usual air of cool superiority had returned to Malfoy’s face, smoothening out the lines of grief that had been there moments before. No. There was no way Harry was going to accept defeat. He would finally get some answers out of the boy if it was the last thing he did. He ran his hands through his hair desperately and they locked eyes once again in a silent battle of wills. Draco was the first to break contact, looking down sheepishly at his own feet. He did not look like the Death Eater that the tattoo on his arm suggested he did. He just looked like a pathetic teenager who had taken on too much responsibility.

“It does matter. Why won’t you just make this easier for both of us? You killed a man. A good man. Now help me understand.” Harry stepped sideways, attempting to meet the guilty eyes of Malfoy one more, to gain any insight he could. “I don’t want to be on your side any more than you want to be on mine. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t, Potter. Don’t act like you're always the good guy. You probably don’t remember this, but I wasn’t always your enemy." 

“ _What_?”

“You’re the one who was so keen to dislike me.” Malfoy’s laugh was short. Dark. “See? You don’t even remember. You and your perfect life, Potter. Things aren't as easy for the rest of us." 

“My life isn’t—”

“Do you know what it’s like? To grow up alone? To have no one to speak to? There are other people in the world who have burdens, Potter. It’s not just you. The difference is: you actually had people to share those burdens with.”

“You had the other Slytherins. Crabbe. Goyle.”

“They were stupid enough to eat floating cakes laced with sleeping potion and get stuffed into a cupboard by a bunch of twelve-year-olds — yes I do know about that by the way. I mean, even their names sound stupid. Imagine trying to have a conversation about something other than food or fights. Or food fights.” He sat down upon the cold, hard floor, trying his best to avoid eye contact with the Gryffindor boy. He had admitted weakness. How… embarrassing. 

Harry was speechless. Draco, the one with the wealth, the power, the status, had been lonely? Was it even possible? All this time, his foe had seemed so sure of himself, so happy with his money and quick to call his father every time others so much as sneezed. Now, here he was looking pathetic and miserable. Harry sank to the floor next to the blonde-haired bully and sighed. 

“I’m sorry”

Draco’s eyes widened. _What did Potter say?_ Did the famous Harry Potter just apologise to _him_? “You don’t have to apologise.”

“But I do. You haven’t always been the best person in the world, but I’m sorry I was so quick to judge you.” Harry’s green eyes scorched into Draco’s mind as he stared, waiting eagerly for a response.

“I guess… I’m sorry for making your life hell, too.” Draco tried his best to unlock his stubborn jaw as he coughed the apology begrudgingly through his fingers. The two boys sat, side by side, as a silence lingered between them. An awkward, tense silence. Harry turned and did something he had never done to Draco before: he smiled. Despite himself, the Slytherin found his mouth being pulled up into an awkward grin. Maybe Harry Potter wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He leaned forward, closing what little space they had between them, stopping just short of Harry’s lips. _What am I doing_? Before he could pull away, Harry’s lips had met his. The boys’ curiosities were clear as they explored one another’s mouths. It was much nicer than Draco would have expected. His heard pounded in his chest. In the confusion and grief, who knew if he truly wanted this? One thing was certain, though: there was no hate in that kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for getting through that! Please give me as much feedback as you can. I'd be happy to continue if you liked it.


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